Her Hands
by ILikeWaffles96
Summary: She had wielded weapons with those hands, deadly and fierce. She has brushed away tears with those hands. Closed the eyes of the dead, and left bodied with eyes that needed to be closed. Given tender touches and careful nurturing... She hates her hands.


_Author's Note; This is all related to ELS, therefor some of it will make little sense. It, actually takes, place in the future, as I have everything already mapped out._

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><p>She cannot move, and she cannot breath, or feel or smile or even look anywhere but at her hands. Hands that have been covered in blood. Hands that have wielded weapons, deadly and fierce. Hands that have brushed away tears and given reassuring gestures. Calloused and cold and kind of small. She hates her hands. And she can't look away because if she does not focus on her clasped hands, she will break down. And she cannot.<p>

And she's been taking too many missions lately, to keep away from their graves and their memories and the piteous looks she has been receiving. And so she comes home every other day, or every few days much more than half dead and wishing she was more. But she won't just drop dead yet, because someone needs her and she has things to take care of and do. And revenge to take care of, and a boy to drag back home for someone else.

So this time, when she stumbles into the village holding someone else by the arm-he is almost limp and dying in her grip-it is a surprise when she just collapses and stares at her hands. There are ninja around suddenly, and she's retching on the ground, blood mixed with vomit. But she's home and she's far past half dead, head hanging and eyes hidden. And when she wakes up in the hospital-_again,_ she is reminded-she says nothing. Nothing to Sakura-who took care of her-and nothing to Naruto-who kept checking up on her.

When she asks for another mission, she is denied. That fact alone makes her angry, but she only asks Tsunade why. "You're going to kill yourself." was the simple answer, and it was the same thing Sakura always said. So she left for a few days, trained until she exhausted herself and tried again. She was sent on a longer mission, a group mission. The medic nin on that mission was the one to fix her when she kept returning bloody and broken. Nobody ever asked questions, until she aborted the mission and went home. It was a failed mission, she would tell her Hokage.

Which was a lie. She found what she was looking for, even if it did not pertain to the mission at all. She leaves without warning, apartment untouched, no hint as to where she would be going. And when she arrives, she merely sits and waits. She waits for three days until he arrives, and he really hasn't changed much. She says nothing and he says nothing until she is standing and he knows why she came. It was one fight she did not plan to come back from if she was going back alone. Because even if Naruto had made the promise, it was as much her duty as his.

So they fought-and fought, and fought-until she was collapsed and staring at her hands again, trying to remember how to breath. He stands over her, face impassive, and she manages to open her eyes long enough to smirk at him until she forces herself to roll over and get on trembling legs. It becomes painfully obvious how she plans to end things when she reaches up to slide her headband from her neck and holds it out to him, still no words spoken. The black cloth slips between her fingers, until it is hanging between her fingers and she lets the metal clang against the stone so loudly in the painful silence. She stares at her hand for a moment before it curls into a fist.

She reminds herself that the headband is there because if she dies-and she suspects she will-it is will be the only indication. And she knows someone will find it-eventually-and that is enough for the moment. Because she is darting forward and his sword in infused with lightning and his eyes are red, and she wants nothing more than to ask him when he became his brother. She does not, because she has already chosen their last words, and they were spoken years ago when he left her half dead and on the brink of either dying or following him. When his sword goes through her abdomen, she grabs the blade, holding it in place there, staring at her hands.

He is staring at her hands too, until she looks up and grins at him like she would have when she was teasing him. He can picture it without the blood falling from the corners of her mouth, without his sword through her, without blood falling down the side of her face. But that picture only lasts a second before he sees her the way she actually is. Dying and smiling. Smiling because she has only ever been past half dead and she wished she was more, but now she is so close. Her hands cannot hold the blade any longer and he pulls it out with a sickening noise. She falls at him feet, and if it weren't for all the blood and the years it had been, it would have reminded them both of when they sparred.

But it doesn't because she is dying at his feet and he cannot feel enough to know if he regrets it, and she cannot feel enough to know if this was really what she wanted. But she finds herself staring at her hands again, and frowning. She hates her hands.


End file.
